This is Monsters, This is Magic
by Beserked2
Summary: Where magic and science intersect and villains never really die. Rated 'M' for violence/coarse language.
1. Chapter 1: The Skinny

**Chapter One: The Skinny**

[A/N: I've fallen in love with the MCU and developed a soft spot for Hawkeye. Harry Potter is an enduring favourite. So there's this.

This story is set in the present: for this to work, push the Harry Potter timeline forward ten years. Events in this story take place two years after the Avengers film and six years after Deathly Hallows.

Ignore the dates if you like; they're just there for me to keep track of stuff.]

Disclaimer: Anything publicly recognisable is the property of Rowling and Marvel.

* * *

22/07/14

Five years after Tom Riddle's death and Harry Potter was _still _running for his life.

"I thought I'd grown out of this shit," he panted, ducking behind a (conveniently placed) SUV. Laughter, low and breathless sounded out beneath the steady rattle of gunfire.

"You're in the wrong business then, idiot."

"Shove off, Malfoy." Any trace of laughter had vanished from Ron's sweat-soaked face and Harry held back a sigh. While he hadn't quite mastered the ability to 'just ignore it' like Hermione had always said, Ron _always _rose to the occasion and they were _taking fire for fucks sake_.

"_I'm sorry_, was I talking to you?" How Malfoy managed to sound so goddamn condescending when glass and debris was raining down upon them, Harry would never know. He eyed an overturned dumpster further up while Ron and Malfoy bickered in the background, firing curses at their attackers as often as they spat insults at one another.

"I'm making a run for the dumpster-"

"Just apparate-!"

"There are only three gunmen left but we can't get a clear shot! I need them to see me running for it. I'll draw their focus and expose their blind spot. Once we're clear I'll give the signal and we'll apparate behind them. Malfoy, you take the one on the right, Ron, you've got the big bloke in the center. Cover me."

He waited for a lull in the shooting before firing a volley of curses over the bonnet of the SUV at random. The second Malfoy and Ron took over everything turned to white noise and Harry was off, propelling himself forward as fast as his feet would allow. It was only once he was clear of the SUV that he realized just how far away the dumpster was. Bullets blasted away the bike racks to his left and peppered the concrete beneath his feet. Harry wasn't even sure he was breathing but he _must _have been because it took him an age to reach cover and no one could hold their breath that bloody long. Something hot and burning sliced into his side and he lunged (or flew?) the last few feet, bouncing raggedly along the ground. He took a beat to steel himself against the burning in his side before he was stumbling to his feet, sucking in a sharp breath when he twisted his abdomen. Absolutely refusing to look down, Harry broke cover to get his bearings.

The underground parking garage lay in tatters around the three gunmen, slowly stalking their way forward. They flocked to the center and shot systematically across the southern end of the garage where he and the others had taken refuge. The sterile white light of the overheads left no room for shadow and for the first time that day, Harry's confidence was boosted.

He gave the signal.

It was a _good _plan. A simple one: draw fire toward concentrated point creating a blind spot, apparate into said blind spot and neutralize the bad guy. It took all of thirty seconds.

It only took eleven seconds for the plan to turn to shit.

The gunmen writhed in their magically bound ropes, their legs scrabbling furiously at the ground trying to find escape. It didn't take long for them to realize there was none and the determination in their eyes turned into something else, something darker. In the second it took Harry to lower his wand and take a half-step forward the bound men were writhing for a completely different reason. Harry slashed at the ropes of the closest prisoner and fell to his knees beside him but the man had already begun frothing at the mouth.

Harry grabbed at the man's jacket and heaved him forward – for what, he wasn't sure. Somewhere in the background he could hear Malfoy and Ron shouting at him, at each other – at everything. The gurgles of his prisoner's last words were barely above a whisper, lost in the toxic foam bubbling from his lips.

"H-H… ay… H-H…"

* * *

Harry had always liked the light in Ivanka Abernathy's office. It didn't matter what time of the day it was, the light in this office was always on the warmer side of sunset – bright enough that there was no need for candles, but soft enough that it didn't hurt the eyes even after long periods of exposure. It was one of the perks of being the Head Auror, Harry supposed, being able to choose what type of whether your windows let in.

He followed a swirl of dust motes up from the plush cream carpet to the spindly mahogany desk where his gaze lingered. It was an antique – Harry wasn't sure how he knew this, but the fact was there, floating around like flecks of dust in his head. Maybe he'd get one like it, if he ever managed to become Department Head. It was a bit feminine, but he could butch it up a bit-

"Have you quite finished?"

Harry heaved a weary sigh, unable to postpone the inevitable any longer. He lifted his gaze to meet the eyes of his _fuming _boss. Unlike his own bright green ones hers were a darker emerald, the golden flecks in them caught the light and they seemed to literally sparkle with her anger. Ivanka Abernathy was a formidable woman at the best of times; as meticulous and sharp as she was beautiful – and the woman sitting across from him was _stunning _even in middle age. So, it made sense that she would _know_ what he knew and it was that knowledge that made looking at Abernathy, _talking _to her, so difficult.

"You screwed up, Potter."

"I did."

"Raymond Cervone got away. There was nothing in that building that was of any use and the only people that could have given us _any _information are dead."

He would take the dressing down in silence, with humility because honestly, he deserved worse.

Abernathy stared at him for a long moment before she got stuck into him again. "Those Muggles died as a direct result of your actions. It was _your _team that carried out _your _plan on a mission that _you _were put in charge of."

He simultaneously loved and loathed her, her honesty. He didn't deserve to be reassured; wasn't worthy of the excuses Ron or Ginny would make for him but he flinched at Abernathy's words nevertheless _because _they were true and the realization that he was responsible for three more dead threatened to make him sick.

"Don't throw up on the carpet, no one's 'evanesco' is that good," said Abernathy, plunking a metal wastepaper bin on the desk in front of him. They sat in uncomfortable silence for a while, the sick in the back of Harry's throat slowly ebbing back down.

"Take heart in the knowledge that this mess isn't entirely your fault."

It was as close to comforting as Abernathy ever got. If he were in a lighter mood he would have savored the moment.

"No really, Potter. I need you on your feet. Three dead Muggles in the service of a wizard was unforgivable even before Tom Riddle. Three dead Muggles now, in _these _times is unforgettable." Harry's back stiffened at her words and hope rose in his chest.

"You're keeping me on the case?" It wasn't a chance at redemption and he knew he wasn't forgiven but he needed closure. He needed to know what type of man inspired such devotion in his followers that they would rather kill themselves than surrender. Not even Riddle had managed that.

"I'm giving you a chance to clean up your mess."

"I won't let you down," said Harry, nodding profusely. Abernathy raised one perfectly manicured brow in surprise but there wasn't enough pride in him to feel abashed at his eagerness.

To her credit (and his relief) she didn't dwell on it and instead slapped a manila folder onto the desk in front of him. "While you were letting Cervone get away, I had Keriggan put together an information packet on him."

Harry reached for the file and eyed Cervone's (admittedly impressive) set of credentials. He had gained nine 'Outstanding' NEWTs from Beauxbeatons at the tender age of fourteen before becoming a Caltech and MIT graduate with PhD's in Experimental Physics, Electrical Engineering and strangely enough, Astrophysics.

"Most wizards don't even bother with their A-levels," Harry said, flipping to a grainy still of Cervone taken from a Muggle security camera.

"Most wizards are idiots," Abernathy said crisply. "There's nothing in there that I'm not about to tell you. It's mostly for Granger and-"

"_Hermione_?"

"No, Gregory."

"Oh," said Harry a little meekly.

Abernathy however looked thoroughly unimpressed. "There are no bloody Gregory Granger's working in this Ministry. I was being sarcastic, Potter, for goodness sake."

A knock at the door (thankfully) relieved him of her pitying gaze.

"But why is Hermione being read in? She's not an Auror," Harry persisted.

"_Granger_?" Malfoy's voice sounded from the doorway. "You're bringing Granger in on this?"

The corners of Abernathy's mouth tightened but she waited until Malfoy had sat himself down in the chair next to Harry, before she ripped into them.

"You look like shit," Harry commented before she could even open her mouth. It was obvious that like him, Malfoy had just come from his debriefing, he was still wearing his robes, torn from glass and stray debris and his face was still covered in dirt and dried blood.

"Piss off, Potter," Malfoy replied acidly. He reached for the waste bin still on Abernathy's desk before flipping it upside down and plopping it on the ground to rest his injured leg upon it.

"Go to hell, M-"

"Enough. We have seventeen minutes before I need you out of my office."

"So you can bring Granger in? What do you need her for?"

"You were sent to apprehend Raymond Cervone earlier this morning for the killing of a Peruvian Vipertooth Dragon on the Romanian Dragon Preserve. We believe Cervone is in possession of the dragon's six missing eggs," said Abernathy, sliding a succession of photographs across the desk's polished surface towards them.

"The Burkina Faso Ministry of Magic has just sent over the files on the Runespoor Forest burnings. Our own Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures took these photos last week when Hagrid reported the missing Acrumantula clusters in the Forbidden Forest and these were taken at the site of several empty giant dwellings." Photographs of a familiar forest, mountainous landscapes and raging fires accompanied a singular capture of a dead dragon and in each frame a ten foot circle filled with intricate symbols had been burned into the ground.

"Reminds me a bit of the Dark Mark," said Harry, absently tracing the scorched insignia with his fingertips. Beside him, Malfoy flinched.

"Cervone's claim to the attacks," confirmed Abernathy, nodding in agreement.

"What do the symbols mean?"

"We're not sure. I've had Keriggan working on decoding them since the first attack about a month ago but he's had no luck so far."

"So what, you think Cervone's _collecting _these creatures?" Malfoy asked.

"In a manner of speaking," said Abernathy, leaning back in her chair to gaze at them levelly. "Cervone now possesses three different Magical Creatures above a XXXX Classification, not including the two missing giants. We have no idea where he's hidden them or what his plans for them are. In this type of situation we _absolutely _have to consider the possibility that he plans to release the creatures or use them to make an attack at some point, but we don't know where and we don't know when or for what purpose. There is no possible way we could hope to contain the situation without any of these parameters. As such, Cervone poses a direct threat to the International Statute of Secrecy."

"That would give him Undesirable Status," Malfoy observed, shrewdly.

"As of 5:45 this evening, Raymond Cervone has become Undesirable Number One."

Images of a time long passed floated through Harry's mind and he couldn't help the slight wince at the label. "We need to get a handle on this before Cervone gets his hands on too many more creatures," he said, looking to Abernathy for direction. It was obvious she had a plan. He assumed it was why she was bringing Hermione in.

"Do you have to bring Granger in?" said Malfoy in a voice that was dangerously close to whining but not even Malfoy was stupid enough to _whinge _outright in front of Abernathy.

"Do you have a working knowledge of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?" she asked, her hard gaze settling upon Malfoy.

"No."

"Do you currently work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"No."

"Do you know of anyone else who has had in-field experience, worked in both these departments _and_ has the necessary NEWT qualifications of an Auror?"

"Elliot Pry," Malfoy replied, with an arrogant lift of his chin and a self-satisfied smirk. Harry blinked at him in surprise and if it had been anyone, _literally anyone else_, he wouldn't have fought the smile creeping onto his face at Malfoy's cheek. As it was, he kept his expression blank but he could've sworn he saw the corner of Abernathy's mouth twitch.

"Raymond Cervone is Undesirable Number _One, _Mr Malfoy. I need more than your one team investigating him. Miss Granger will be working with you and Mr Potter. Elliott Pry will be working as a part Mr Weasley's team."

Malfoy looked to be choking on his words, caught between incredulous outrage and genuine _glee. _Harry however wasn't so torn. Abernathy's gaze turned on him and before he could open his mouth to protest her decision she countered his argument.

"This is hardly the first time I've separated the two of you."

"But we work better together," Harry reasoned.

"I need four _effective _teams on this, Potter. Weasley is needed elsewhere."

"We-"

She shot him a sharp look. "Weasley _needs _this. He cannot grow in your shadow."

It was exactly what had driven Ron away from him more times than he cared to count back in their Hogwarts years and Harry had _honestly _tried not to overshadow Ron in their work. Apparently he wasn't trying hard enough.

"Fine," Harry grumbled. "What about Malfoy?"

"What about him?"

"You said you've got four teams working on this. I've been working with him on _every single _bloody assignment for the past three years. Shouldn't someone else… get a turn?" Harry asked, hopefully.

"A transfer?" Malfoy suggested, equally as hopeful.

"Both you and Granger are too virtuous for your own good. You need someone on your team who can lie convincingly. You need someone who understands the politics of criminals, Potter. While Malfoy isn't the best at either of these things, he is better at it than you."

"Naidu-"

"-is working on another team."

"Can't I swap Malfoy for Naidu?"

"No one else will work with Malfoy and as it was you who supported his request for five years community service as opposed to five years in Azkaban, it is _you _who is stuck with him, Potter." Her lips pressed together firmly and the unspoken 'that is final' rang loud and clear.

Apparently though, Malfoy didn't quite get the message. "I'm injured," he declared, "I need to be taken off of rotation." It was such a typically _Malfoy _thing to say that Harry scoffed in derision.

"You still have fifteen months of community service left to serve Mr Malfoy. Until then, you don't get extra time off."

"Put me on desk duty then. I'm injured. I can't walk properly; I can't be in the field."

"You fractured your ankle, Mr Malfoy. The ankle brace and Skele-Sew the Mediwizards gave you will have your 'injury' healed within the hour."

"Look, Abernathy, I can't-"

"No."

"You-"

"No."

"But I-"

"No."

Malfoy drew in a sharp breath and Harry watched with equal parts amusement and irritation as Malfoy's nostrils flared and his eyes turned glassy.

"_What then_, would you have me do?" Malfoy hissed, his voice dripping with venom and Harry was glad to see that for the first time in all the years they'd known each other, Malfoy took his defeat with some self-respect.

Abernathy, ever poised, simply cocked her head to the side and regarded him with childlike curiosity. Usually, Malfoy would have stormed from the room by now. Her eyes flashed brightly in the afternoon light and for a fraction of a second Harry thought he saw something akin to _pride _flickering across her expression.

"Both of you need to go and pull yourselves together. You have three hours and then I want you back here and ready to go."

Harry's stomach tightened and he turned his gaze sharply in Abernathy's direction. "Are we making another attempt to arrest Cervone?" It was too soon, they didn't have nearly enough information on the man.

"No. We can't get to him. Cervone's guard detail has tripled since your failed attempt to apprehend him this morning. We need to know what he's planning; the only way to do that with the least amount of Muggle casualties is through his men."

"What's the point? The second any of them see us they'll chomp a suicide pill like those idiots in the parking garage," Malfoy said, his voice no less venomous.

"It is for that reason that your objective has changed. Unless it is _absolutely necessary _your team is strictly hands off. Our focus now is to prevent Cervone from obtaining anymore dangerous magical creatures. You are to observe and gather as much information on him-"

"Surveillance?" They asked in unison, each with varying levels of disbelief. Malfoy because there was nothing he loathed more than being bored out of his bloody mind in a confined space with Harry; and Harry because there was nothing _he _loathed more than doing… nothing.

"_Yes, surveillance_. As you can well see we know next to nothing about Cervone," she said, waving to the woefully thin file on her desk. "I want you tailing his men and finding out what his next move is. He runs a tight operation so I suggest you pack heavy. It'll be a while before you can find an in. I want-"

A puff of navy blue smoke from the end of her wand signaled the end of their conversation because before Harry knew it his chair had disappeared and he fell to the floor with a dull 'thud'. Next to him Malfoy swore bloody murder. Abernathy rose gracefully from her own (still fully formed) chair and strode past their sprawling forms to open her office door.

"You have your orders. Miss Granger's temporary transfer request is being approved as we speak. She will meet you back here in three hours and I swear to Merlin if your Mother shows up here trying to get you out of field duty_ again _Malfoy, I'll make sure you don't come home until Christmas."


	2. Chapter 2: A Hands-Off Approach

**Chapter 2: A Hands-Off Approach**

_30/07/14 – Greenwich_

"_Greenwich_." The word dripped like venom from Malfoy's lips and if disdain weren't his default tone, Hermione might've taken more notice. "I hate Greenwich," he muttered, staring sullenly out the rain-streaked windshield.

Much like Harry, Malfoy was slumped forward in his seat, the limp lines of his body sketching a picture of fatigue. Like clockwork, every hour he would slip off his shoes and prop his sock clad feet up on the dash. Hermione had a sensitive nose and it irritated Harry. Malfoy only did it to get a rise out of them; she knew it, Harry knew it and for the first eight hours it had worked. Now though, Hermione couldn't even be bothered with the book propped open on her lap, never mind Malfoy's games. The flashlight held limply in her hand shone a wobbly beam of light on the back of Harry's seat and she couldn't find the energy to lift her fingers to flick the switch off, let alone huff at Malfoy with indignation. For ten minutes now, his woollen grey socks drew a fuzzy silhouette against the streetlights passing overhead and neither she nor Harry bothered to comment.

Whinging was Malfoy's next logical step.

But even Harry was past being baited; they had been on the road twelve hours straight; hadn't slept properly in fourty-eight.

Not that she was counting or anything.

A week they'd been tracking Don Coble and John Folger (a pair of Cervone's men) and Hermione doubted even Abernathy knew what they were in for when she'd assigned them the detail. Neither Coble nor Folger were wizards but as far as Hermione was concerned, they may as well have been what with the way she'd sometimes suddenly lose sight of them (as if they'd just apparated away). The men travelled like seasoned mercenaries and following them without being caught was a feat all its own.

They'd already stolen at least six vehicles, cut their stores of Polyjuice Potion nearly in half and Harry's invisibility cloak hadn't seen so much action since their Hogwarts days. They hadn't garnered much information at all (save the identities of their targets and a few others) and she could tell Harry was restless – itching, rather than waiting, for something to happen.

The steady click of their indicator flicking on mirrored the van four cars ahead of them and broke through the silence. "We've been in this car too long," Malfoy drawled once they'd made the turn. Maybe he did it to draw them from their stupor. More than likely, he did it for attention. Either way, it worked.

"They only gassed up a couple hours ago," argued Harry, "We can't change cars if they don't stop."

"We can't follow them if they know they've got a tail, either."

"If we stop to alter the appearance of our car, we'll lose sight of them."

"Didn't you put a GPS on them?"

"I'm not a bloody spy, Malfoy. I bought that at a shop. It was too big to put anywhere but in the boot of their car."

"So?"

"So if they leave their car before we make it to their location we won't be able to follow them and subsequently miss an opportunity to gain valuable information on Cervone's operation," said Hermione. "If they decide to changecars, we'll lose them for good."

"Doesn't matter now," said Harry, cutting Malfoy off before he got the chance to snap at Hermione. "Reckon they'll be stopping pretty soon."

For the first time in a week they found themselves on a main road, in an actual city. The lethargic stupor that had settled over them lifted when light began filtering through the rain streaked windows, pouring from shop fronts and shining from headlights of more vehicles than they'd seen in a long while. Even the number of lampposts seemed to double – nothing more than bright yellow blurs zipping by overhead. It was such a surprise that they watched in dazed silence. Up until now Coble and Folger had stuck to small towns, rural back roads and every time they'd come near a city, they stuck to the outskirts.

"_Finally_," Malfoy sighed, sitting up straighter.

"What's in Greenwich?" asked Harry, glancing up into the rear-view mirror to peer at Hermione.

"Nothing," she replied, nonplussed. "Magical creatures never dwell close to metropolitan areas and there aren't even any small magical communities around for at least fifty kilometres."

"What about the Floo Network? Most wizards have their households connected. If we can find one in the city-"

"I don't have that kind of information on hand."

Malfoy snorted. "All those books you've got and not one of them-"

"Are there any known dark wizards in the area?" Harry cut in.

"You would know better than me." She caught Harry's pinched expression in the rear-view mirror, imagined that his grip on the steering wheel would have his knuckles turning white. "There aren't any, are there?"

"No."

"Then why are Coble and Folger in Greenwich?"

"If it's not about the magic…" Harry muttered. "Coble and Folger are Muggles, far as we can tell. Have a look at Greenwich's Muggle criminal activity."

Haphazardly, Hermione stuffed her book and flashlight into her bag before she worked the search on her phone. "There's nothing relevant in the news," she said after she'd cycled through a few websites. "There isn't even anything interesting."

"Because it's Greenwich," Malfoy drawled. "_Nothing _happens in Greenwich."

"There've been a few muggings and a couple stabbings," Hermione continued. "The biggest headline is about a policeman who was shot down about a year ago."

Malfoy sighed dramatically. "Nothing worth finding is in the news."

"I don't see you doing anything," Hermione replied tartly.

"Make yourself useful," Harry added, "Coble and Folger work for Cervone – he's a scientist. See if you can find anything related to his work in the area. Could be why they're here."

"Piss off, Potter."

"Do you want to finish this assignment or not?" Harry growled. "Sooner we close Cervone's operation down, sooner we get home."

It took a full minute for Malfoy to concede defeat. "What's science got to do with anything?" He asked begrudgingly.

"We just drove past a University," supplied Hermione. "Cervone could have a contact here; he might be looking into astrophysical events – hey!" she cried when her phone was suddenly pulled from her fingers, zooming through the gap between the passenger's and driver's seat before settling in Malfoy's waiting hand.

"You're not going to find anything," he said shortly. "Coble and Folger are _professionals_. They're not likely to work with amateurs who get themselves in the news."

"You ruined my phone!" Hermione squawked, yanking it from his hands. The screen flickered between thick rainbow stripes and a sick green colour so rapidly it made her eyes water.

"I didn't do anything-"

"You summoned it," she snapped. "It's an electronic device and you wrapped it in ribbons of magic!"

"So?"

"So it's useless now." Honestly, had _no one _read 'Hogwarts, A History'?

He did little more than shrug (because of course he wouldn't apologize) before reaching into his backpack for his own phone and _why _he didn't just use his own one in the first place, she didn't know.

"You're a real prat," Hermione grumbled, reaching for Harry's bag. Like all of them, he'd used an undetectable extension charm on it – a hassle seeing as she couldn't summon Harry's phone from its vast depths (lest it meet the same fate as hers).

They followed Coble and Folger down a maze of side-streets (sometimes by sight, others by GPS) and it took until the buildings became less commercial, the streets less populated, for Hermione to find Harry's phone.

"Why don't you keep it in your pocket?" She sighed, stuffing everything back in.

"S'how I broke my last two. You find anything yet?" Harry asked, casting Malfoy a sidelong glance.

"No."

"There might be something in the news, yet," Hermione reasoned, booting her search up again.

"You're wasting your time," Malfoy snapped. "There's-"

"They're slowing down," interrupted Harry. Hermione's head snapped up and she leaned between the two front seats to watch as the brake lights of Coble and Folger's van (eight cars ahead now) burned bright.

"We can't stop or they'll know we're following them," Harry whispered, slowing the car down as far as he dared.

The van's indicator flashed on and they watched with a sense of dread as it slid toward a private parking space in front of a nondescript, brick building.

"Take the invisibility cloak," Harry instructed, snapping into action. He gripped the steering wheel with one hand and pulled the cloak from his pocket with the other, tossing it in Malfoy's direction. "I'll slow the car down as much as I can but I can't stop completely."

"No," Malfoy declared. "Make Granger do it."

"Hermione's rubbish at stealth and tracking and she's not nearly as fast as you," said Harry, shooting Hermione a quick (almost apologetic) glance.

Her cheeks pinked in embarrassment, her hackles rose – she could _feel _her chin rising in defiance. She let it go with only a purse of her lips though, because unlike Malfoy, she knew how to prioritize, knew they didn't have time to waste squabbling.

"I'm not going out after them," said Malfoy. "I do things from a _distance_, Potter."

"Just do it, you great, big-" Harry growled, cutting himself off before he got the chance to finish. There was a beat of silence, Hermione could see Harry sucking in a few steadying breaths before he said, almost too calmly, "We'll be right behind you, soon as we get the car parked. Just keep an eye on them, find out where they're going. Keep all the distance you want 'til we get there."

There was uncertainty in both Harry and Hermione's gaze as they watched Malfoy shuck his backpack before he pulled on the Invisibility cloak and the furious set of his face disappeared. Malfoy, for all that he understood what choosing this line of work instead of Azkaban meant, hated being in the field; hated risking his hide.

And as much as Harry understood that too, he hated putting people – even one's like Malfoy – in danger _especially _if they didn't _want _to be there.

"Jump out on three," Harry instructed, slowing the car down even more.

He jumped out on two.

"Git," Harry growled. "We'll get out at the disability parking space, down there," he added when Hermione clambered into the empty front seat, stretching to pull the flapping door closed.

"We'll get towed."

"We might have to borrow another car." Beneath the heavy set of his brows, Harry glanced furtively in her direction.

"_Borrow_?" She asked shrewdly. "You've become a criminal while I wasn't looking, Harry Potter."

"I swear it's not usually like this. This is the first time we've had to follow a couple of Muggles. It's a lot bloody harder than I thought it would be."

Which, she could understand that. Auror's policed the dark wizards and the Muggle authorities took care of their own criminals. So rarely did the two intersect that the protocols were almost nonexistent.

"Cervone's rather clever actually, hiring Muggles," she said, tossing Harry his phone and backpack once they'd pulled over. "Most wizards – even the ones in the Auror Office – are so _ignorant _when it comes to Muggles and what they're capable of."

"Yeah," Harry sighed as they hopped out of the (illegally parked) car. "That had to be a tactical decision. Naidu's team lost their target forty eight hours in and Ron's team got made yesterday." They hit the pavement at a brisk walk – any faster and anyone watching would know they weren't regular civilians, minding their own business.

It had been raining all day and the headlights of passing vehicles refracted off of every wet surface enough that Hermione had to hide her wand in the space between herself and Harry. Her spellwork was silent – the detection spells she cast would've been a lot lesscomplicated if there wasn't so much traffic.

"Ours and Neville's teams are the only ones left doing active reconnaissance?" She asked between casting spells.

"_Reconnaissance_?" Harry asked with a wry smile.

"Oh please," Hermione huffed. "You just said Ron's team was '_made_'."

"But I'm an Auror," Harry declared, trying for a smug smile. It didn't suit him though and slid off his face before it'd even had a chance to settle.

She was spared a response when the galleons in their pockets burned hot. They came to a grinding halt, both of them digging through their pockets for the coin. It was a borrowed trick from Dumbledore's Army that had carried through (unofficially) to the Auror Office and Hermione would be lying if she said she wasn't at least a _little _proud of herself. They huddled together on the wet sidewalk, Malfoy's message barely visible on the coin, illuminated by the misty yellow light of a lamppost overhead.

_1-12-12-5-25_

It was a simple code, every number corresponding to a letter in the alphabet – anything more complex would have taken too long to work out on the go.

"He's in the alley," Harry said, pulling his wand free.

They waited until they were beneath the shadow of a low hanging tree before they cast the disillusionment charms on themselves. The sidewalks were as empty as Hermione's detection spells revealed the surrounding buildings in the immediate vicinity to be, so they took off at a sprint and it took Hermione everything she had to keep up with Harry. She wasn't an Auror, chasing after criminals wasn't something she did every other day.

They came upon a wide alleyway next to the building Coble and Folger had parked in front of. Light from the street didn't reach far into the space and shadows loomed large and ominous down the entire right side of the alley where stacks of empty pallets and overstuffed garbage bags had crowded. They made their way slowly down the alley until a solid green gate loomed ahead and one pale hand flipped them off.

"They've gone inside," Malfoy drawled, without preamble.

Harry and Hermione inched forward and pressed themselves to the slit in the gate Malfoy held open. A loading dock lined the far end of the alleyway with the roller door pulled shut. A wall of high windows on the right spilled out enough light for them to see into the blocked off alley, barely illuminating a skip pushed up against the opposite wall.

It was the large circle full of symbols burned into the ground that caught Hermione attention. It looked almost exactly the same as the one's she'd seen next to the dead dragon, and at the sites of all the other missing magical creatures.

Except this one was much, much bigger.

Abernathy called it Cervone's 'Brand' and it stretched out over the entire expanse of the alley. In a full circle it caught the bottom half of the ramp leading up to the loading dock, stretched out over the empty space in the middle of the alley, disappeared beneath the skip on the left wall and looped up barely a foot away from the gate they were pressed up against.

They ended up squashed into the tiny space between the skip and the elevated landing of the loading dock, right on the edge of the circle. They pressed close together and crouched low enough that the invisibility cloak covered all but one of their six ankles – their disillusionment charms and shadow making up the difference.

"Brilliant idea, Potter," Malfoy hissed.

"Got a better one?"

"Waiting in the car would've been the smart play," Malfoy snapped, grabbing for the Extendable Ear Hermione handed him.

Their Extendable Ears rolled towards the bank of windows (now opposite them) and Hermione pulled the flesh coloured string up to her ear, waiting for the indistinct murmurs to become clear. Wet brick dug into her back and she tried not to think too hard about the fact that her side was pushed up against a dumpster, dripping foul smelling water down the back of her neck.

The muffled argument coming from inside the building cleared the instant the Extendable Ears touched the frosted glass of the nearest window.

"-a _sterile area_ you colossal tit!" A woman's voice screeched.

"-if you just got more pipettes I wouldn't-"

"-I'm not your bloody secretary-"

"-but I can't do anything-"

"-you rotate out in two days, Royer!"

"-and they'll be _wasted _if I don't get more equipment!"

"Fine!" the woman yelled so loudly that Hermione jumped.

"Might want to get some air freshener too," a voice Hermione recognised as John Folger's, muttered.

"What?" The woman replied, distracted and irritable. Somewhere in the background a nail gun thwacked steadily.

"_Air freshener_," Folger repeated slowly, his tone notably condescending.

"Oh right," the woman snapped, "because for three days I've had the stench of decay hanging around my lab and not once did I think to use _air freshener._" Sarcasm dripped from her every syllable and the 'thwacking' nail gun became decidedly more pointed.

"This crate's half filled with soil," said Royer, tactfully redirecting the conversation. "You'll need to put another bag in before the nights out and at least four daily after that."

"Why so much?" Don Coble's voice was a low rumble, distinctive even in a crowd.

"You need _at least _four bags of soil daily," the woman replied and the nail gun stopped, "or they'll eat through the crate and whatever else they can find."

"They've got Bundimun in the crate!" Hermione breathed when realization dawned, leaning in closer to the others.

"What?" They whispered back and she didn't need to see their expressions, their confused tone was telling enough.

"It's a type of magical fungus," Hermione huffed. "Honestly, we're investigating a man _stealing _magical creatures and you don't know what Bundimen are?"

They ignored her, and she felt their full attention turn back to the frosted windows and the sound of Royer's voice. "You got the short end of the stick, lads."

"How so?" asked Folger.

"I hear they've got eyes on a Chimaera," Royer whispered conspiratorially. It was obviously loud enough for everyone else in the room to hear though, because there was a moment of complete silence.

Hermione looked to the others with a weary expression. Chimaera were XXXXX Class creatures, more volatile than Acromantula and even rarer than dragons.

It was the woman inside the building that broke the silence, voice devoid of all the fire it'd held before. "Where'd you hear that?" She asked.

"I have my sources," replied Royer, sounding a little smug. "Bet you wish you pulled a better detail now, eh?"

"We go where we're needed," Coble replied, his tone measured.

"We'll see what you say after a few days with this," Royer replied, the dull 'thud' of a foot kicking wood muffling the last of his words.

"We have our orders." Coble's voice remained cautious but it seemed to be the end of the conversation because a metal cranking assaulted Hermione's ears a moment before the roller door shuddered overhead. As one they yanked at their Extendable Ears, watching the flesh coloured string roll back to them as if in slow motion.

The bright glare of artificial light spilled out into the alley, reflecting brightly off a growing puddle not thirty centimetres from the tips of Hermione's sneakers. Harry and Malfoy were pressed up so closely beside her that she felt the exact moment their bodies stopped shivering and became stiff with tension.

Heavy 'thuds' sounded on the loading bay above, the conversation only an indistinct murmur to her now that she no longer had her Extendable Ears in. The peeling sound of wheels on wet concrete followed the slap of boots from the loading bay, down the ramp and into the alley, until Hermione could see Coble and Folger's fuzzy outline.

She watched with bated breath as they wheeled the crate of Bundimun down into the empty alley way, right into the very centre of circle full of symbols burned into the ground.

"I need that jack back! You lot keep taking them to the other side and never bring them back,' the woman from inside the building called.

"The bridge'll open in one minute," added Royer.

Hermione barely had time to contemplate what that even meant before the roller door slid shut and the alley way was bathed in darkness once more.

"Royer's got a mouth on him," Folger muttered, once the metal screeching had stopped echoing around the confined space.

"It's going to be a problem," Coble replied almost too lowly for Hermione to hear _despite _how frighteningly close he was to her hiding place.

"How did he know about the Chimaera?" Folger wondered aloud, his voice hesitant – almost _scared_.

"Wasn't anyone on this side."

"Only people in the whole country that know about it are us and the boss," Folger added, uneasily.

Hermione's skittish gaze darted up long enough to spy the shadow of Coble's silhouette turning towards the loading bay – any longer and she feared he'd sense her gaze. "We leave for Kinshasa tomorrow," he said quietly, "shouldn't be too hard to find the leak once we're on site."

"It can't be anyone on the ground or Royer would've known I was part of the transfer detail," Folger muttered.

Her heart picked up a beat at the revelation. If they followed Coble and Folger, they could follow the Chimaera and maybe stop Cervone from getting it. At the very least, they'd have eyes on more men inside Cervone's operation – possibly even Cervone himself.

"Has to be someone on the outside. Everyone loyal to the cause knows to keep their mouths shut," Folger mused.

"Hired guns like to talk," Coble agreed his voice slow, almost lazy.

"Yeboah especially. Likes to brag, makes him feel important," Folger added, just as slowly. "Think we should let the boss know?"

"I'll take care of it," Coble stated, dark promise in his voice.

"If Yeboah turns out to be a leak, this'll come back to bite us."

"I said I'll take care of it," said Coble, his voice as slow and steady as always, despite the rebuke of his words. The backlight of Coble's phone lit up the alley, a sudden shock that had Hermione raising her wand instinctively.

"Five seconds."

A sense of foreboding stole over them and she felt Malfoy and Harry lifting their wands, mirroring her pose. Henchmen counting down never lead to anything good.

Her breathing hitched when an invisible hook yanked at her navel, the pulling sensation sending a swooping through her gut. The circle full of symbols beneath them lit up the night sky, almost blinding in its brilliance. A beautiful rainbow of colours pulsed through the bright light, through _them_, seeming to engulf them in its warmth. The light burned impossibly brighter and for one fleeting moment Hermione felt _weightless_.

The feeling lasted all of five seconds and she felt rather than saw herself floating gracefully down to solid ground, her feet glued to the cobbles as if they'd never left at all. The lights faded almost as suddenly as they appeared until the circle full of symbols were but glowing embers beneath their feet.

She hadn't been able to make a sound before, hadn't been able to move, but now she found her knees wobbling, her breath coming in quicker, almost audible gasps. Malfoy's hand clamped down over her mouth which was _such _an exaggeration that she considered biting at his palm. Her gaze darted up instead and she found Cervone's men in the same alleyway, silhouetted against the _same _wall of windows.

"Ain't never gonna get used to that," Folger muttered, shaking himself.

"Everything goes to plan, you won't have to," Coble replied, pumping the pallet jack a few times. "Get the gate."

Hermione's gaze stayed fixed on the men as they made their way out of the alleyway. She waited until the sounds of their footfalls had faded before she turned to look at the others.

"I'll go," Harry whispered, rising to his feet, pulling the invisibility cloak and all its warmth with him.

Looking down, Hermione ran the fingertips of her left hand along the wet cobbles, tracing along the thick border of the circle full of symbols – nothing but a dark scar upon the ground now. While the lights that had burst from the symbols were like nothing Hermione had ever seen, the sensation of being pulled through the air was eerily similar to using a Portkey. The ground was cold beneath her fingertips though, not warm like a Portkey was after use.

"What happened?" Malfoy demanded.

"I'm not sure." The words tasted like vinegar, slipping from her lips.

"Then what good are you?"

Her gaze snapped up to glare at him, only to realize that it was pointless – they were both still disillusioned.

Sighing, Hermione waved her wand over the ground. "_Specialis Revelio_," she muttered.

Nothing happened. Theories and unease wound themselves into knots when she cast at least a dozen more incantations that yielded absolutely nothing.

"_Prior Incantato_," she murmured, jabbing her wand angrily at the ground. She barely resisted the urge to growl in frustration when she came up empty once more. _Something _had happened – something that had felt like magic – but there were no indicators. Dragging a frustrated hand through her hair, Hermione stole a cursory glance around the alley. Royer and the woman were still inside and movement negated most of the advantages being disillusioned afforded her.

"I've got watch," Malfoy said quietly. "Just continue the diagnostic."

"I've finished it."

"And?"

"And nothing," Hermione grumbled. "There's no indication that there was any magic performed, or that anything actually happened apart from what we felt and saw with our own eyes."

"Says you."

"Says the magic! I've cast every sensory charm, detection and revelation spell there is."

"That you know of."

"Do your own diagnostic, then," Hermione snapped.

His silence was telling and _immensely _satisfying. She wasn't petty enough to say it aloud, though and there were too many unanswered questions for her to find comfort in it. They sat in silence and the longer it lingered, the more worry and unease ate away at her. Harry should've sent them a signal by now – should've come back at least.

"Do you think they caught him?" She asked when it became too much to bear.

This time, Malfoy's silence made her nervous with fear. It took at least another minute for the galleon in her jeans to burn hot. They'd been left in the dark so much longer than was normal that when it did burn, Hermione was on her feet before she'd even fished it out of her pocket.

_7-15_

"Go," she hissed at Malfoy, making a beeline for the gate. The alleyway beyond was blissfully empty, though filled with pallet jacks instead of garbage and empty pallets like she'd remembered.

Hermione had enough presence of mind to linger in the shadow once she reached the mouth of the alley. There was no sign of Harry, Coble and Folger or their van. The street was darker now, with the absence of traffic and the sidewalks weren't as empty as before. The only sounds were the distant buzz of traffic on unseen roads, and the echo of dogs barking nearby. Across the street a homeless man was giving an elderly woman directions and further down, a shady looking chav leaned against the building of a law firm, the ember of his cigarette burning bright against the night. It was as he flicked ash to the ground that Hermione caught sight of a number of stubs littered around his feet – too many for someone idly hanging about.

"He's guarding the street," Hermione breathed, looking nervously around for any more surprises. He hadn't been there when they'd first entered the alley, she was sure of it. "How're we going to get out without him noticing us-?"

"There," Malfoy breathed, looping his arm through hers and yanking her to his side.

"Where?"

"_Duck and run_," he hissed in her ear, barely giving her enough time to register his words before he was towing her along at an awkward sprint toward an idle _Chariot _parked twenty metres away. They scrambled through the back door that'd been left ajar, Hermione stumbling in so closely behind Malfoy that he ended up kicking her in the stomach. The barking she'd heard earlier increased in both volume and frequency and she realized it was coming from a pair of golden retrievers scuttling around in the boot of the car they'd just hidden in.

Realization (usually a lovely, warm trickle) slid down upon her like a cold chill. The elderly woman across the street getting directions was Harry under the effects of Polyjuice Potion – this was his car and _Malfoy _had figured it all out _before_ her.

She glared at Malfoy right up until Harry strode around to the back of the car and tossed a map through the open door.

They remained silent even once Harry had jumped into the driver's seat. It wasn't until they'd made it out of the city that Harry called 'clear' and the car was a flurry of activity.

Malfoy banished the dogs the second Harry opened his mouth, Hermione lifted their disillusionment charms in the same instant and there was a mad – if somewhat _awkward _scuffle to heave themselves up off the floor.

"Dogs," Malfoy spat.

"They were a clever distraction," Hermione argued, still a little bitter. "It distracted the chav and the homeless man guarding the street."

"And where the bloody hell did they come from?" Malfoy demanded, glaring at the back of Harry's head. "You could've warned us, Potter."

"I didn't have time. They were there when I left the alley," Harry growled in agitation. "I had to ditch Coble and Folger so I could find us a car and transfigure the dog-"

"You lost Coble and Floger?" Malfoy asked, indignant.

"I couldn't bloody well leave you in the alley. You wouldn't have gotten past the blokes guarding the street using Disillusionment Charms alone. They would've spotted you."

It was a fair comment and Malfoy knew it. He stayed silent for a moment before changing tack. "What about the GPS?" He demanded.

"It's got no signal. Neither does my phone."

She watched, rather petulantly, as Malfoy dug into his pocket for his own phone.

"The light show in the alley probably knocked them out," said Harry.

"What's the point in having one of these if they can't handle magic?" Malfoy asked, tossing his phone away.

"They still have power," Hermione observed, plucking his phone off the seat between them. "They're not malfunctioning like mine was. Your phone works just fine," she added, on a random icon, just to make sure. A photo – half obscured by a fuzzy finger over the camera – of a woman with Malfoy's white blond hair sat on an elegant chaise, both legs curved under her, staring at a heavy tome in her lap. Her sallow face was fixed in concentration-

The phone was promptly snatched from her fingers.

"Why can't I run a search or make a call, then?" asked Malfoy.

"Because there's no network connection."

"I thought you said electronics couldn't handle magic?" Harry asked, glancing up at Hermione in the rear-view.

"They can't, especially when magic permeates the air in concentrated volumes like it did back in the alley. Your phones should be worse than mine – they shouldn't even be able to turn on."

"So all those symbols in the ground lighting up, that wasn't magic then?"

"It must have been-"

"Your diagnostic couldn't find any traces of it," Malfoy said coolly.

"That doesn't mean what happened in the alley wasn't born of magic," Hermione shot back.

"But you don't know what kind," Malfoy surmised, his tone taunting.

"No," Hermione conceded bitterly.

They lapsed into silence once more, Hermione stewing, Malfoy agitated and Harry contemplative. It was the indicator (once again) that broke it.

"Where are you going?" Malfoy demanded as Harry took the onramp to the motorway.

"Heathrow."

"What?"

"Why?"

"To follow the lead on the Chimaera."

Malfoy's laugh was sudden, cruel and disturbingly _genuine_.

"Kinshasa's a big city, Harry," said Hermione, gently.

"Can't be many hired guns in it named Yeboah," Harry reasoned.

Malfoy's laughter only grew in volume.

"Shut it, Malfoy. I'm not an idiot. When Coble and Folger were loading the Bundimun into their van they mentioned Yeboah operated out of a pub called Kwilu."

"So we're going to fly thousands of kilometres on two bits of flimsy information?" Malfoy asked, incredulously.

"It's the only lead we have on the Chimaera."

"Piss poor lead if you ask me."

"Nobody _was_ asking you."

"Piss off, Potter." It was a tired retort, worn out so long ago that even Harry had stopped reacting to it.

She couldn't help but agree with Malfoy (not that she'd admit it aloud) and she had a sneaking suspicion Harry did, too.

"It's all we have to go on," she said anyway, because that was true too.

* * *

**Barton**

_Toronto, Canada_

Late afternoon found Clint Barton sprawled across a worn two-seater in a non-descript hotel room with his legs hanging limply over the armrest. The smell of gunpowder, damp nylon and foot odour wafted up his nostrils from the open duffel resting atop his chest but he really couldn't give less of a shit. The coming nightfall had drained all warmth from the room and the heavy bag provided protection from the cold.

"Fourteen minutes," he croaked when his ass started buzzing. Barely enough time to hit the head let alone find sleep.

"Barton," he grunted.

"Selvig's tech's picked up gravimetric anomalies in London." Natasha informed him. She never did bother with pleasantries.

"What are you doing?" He asked tiredly.

Thor was in London.

"Making conversation."

"Why?"

"It's what people do."

He hung up the phone without another word because he was too goddamn tired for _conversation_. It didn't stop him from answering when it buzzed a second time.

He wasn't that stupid.

"That was rude," said Natasha mildly. "Selvig's reporting similar energy readings in New York."

"Always New York," he sighed, looping the strap of his duffel over his shoulder before hauling himself into a sitting position. There was a reason she was calling _him _after all. "Banner and Stark are in New York," he said slowly.

"They've been put on alert."

"They need backup?" He asked, digging the heel of his palm into his sockets until the pressure became too much. She liked to make him _ask _for the information. It was a power play he let her indulge in – it didn't matter. Not to him at least.

"There's nothing to report, as far as we can tell."

"So this _is_ just you making conversation?"

Which (not that he'd ever admit aloud) was disturbing.

"Sure," she replied and he could hear the shrug in her voice. "What's the 4-1-1?"

"Sarcasm," Clint groaned.

"No, come on, come on," and Oh God, she was using the honeyed tones she saved for marks.

Or Rogers.

"Natasha."

She sighed audibly over the line. "We need you in Kinshasa."

He pulled himself to his feet as his mind threw together possibilities. Selvig the astrophysicist detecting fluctuations on the gravitational fields meant-

"Space portals," he murmured to himself, half wishing someone were around to be impressed that he'd worked it out.

"'Space portals'?" Natasha drawled, mocking and unimpressed all at once. "Wormholes, Barton."

"Long mission," he grunted in explanation, glad now that _no one _was around to witness what he'd worked out.

Still, wormholes had opened before in New York and in New Mexico but-

"Kinshasa?" He asked, surprised. His movements faltered, paused halfway through lacing up his boots. "Huh."

"Greenwich," she supplied.

Helpfully, as it turned out.

Astrophysical activity in Kinshasa was no more likely to happen than the universe converging in Greenwich.

And yet.

"Send me the co-ordinates," he requested, making for the exit.

"We can't get a lock. A portal hasn't manifested; the wormhole hasn't connected to this end yet."

"When will the portal open?"

"Selvig's got it pinned down to within a few days."

"Kinshasa is a big city." There was no possible way he could scout the entire city for gravimetric anomalies before the portal opened. He didn't even know what the hell that looked like. He wasn't there for Greenwich.

"This isn't a singular, isolated event, Barton. It's co-ordinated; calculated. You and I have to figure this out on the ground. It'll be fun." Again, he heard her shrug even if genuine warmth (mild as it was) edged its way into her voice. "I'm on the roof. Jarvis has the quinjet ready."

"You got a lead?"

"No."

"Follow the rats?" He suggested, punching the elevator's call button. Rats, the scrappiest kind of criminal, always had a keen sense of self-preservation. Something this big, rats would be in the know.

"Follow the rats," Natasha agreed.

"Lay some traps," he couldn't help but add.

The line disconnected.

"I thought it was clever," he muttered into the empty hallway.


	3. Chapter 3: Sentry

**Chapter 3: Sentry**

_01/08/14 – The Democratic Republic of the Congo_

Finding Yeboah was surprisingly easy. He wasn't exactly being conspicuous about his work. It was his arrogance that led them to him. He made no secret of his illegal dealings; did them out in the open for everyone who walked through the doors of the Kwilu to see exactly how much power he had. In the back corner of the pub, he surrounded himself with henchmen, not-so-discreetly brandishing firearms, smoking cigars and chugging on cheap liquor like a bad cliché.

Hermione and the others set themselves up in the opposite corner, and used the Extendable Ears to listen for a lead on the Chimaera, or at the very least clues about what Cervone was up to. It was hours and _hours_ before they learned Cervone had ordered Yeboah to cordon off an entire street for delivery of a creature none of them were privileged enough to know about. With twenty-four hour surveillance and a guard duty of no less than eighteen men, it _had _to be the Chimaera.

Stunning, binding and then altering the memories of three of Yeboah's men was easy enough – taking over their sentry shift too, was relatively easy.

The waiting is what got to them.

Hermione sighed and rocked her weight restlessly from foot to foot. She kept her head on a swivel, her weary eyes scanning the street for anything unusual. It was a tall task, considering. Dappled in pale moonlight, the neglected street they'd taken over was so close to the slums it didn't warrant care or attention. Buildings no taller than three stories high lined the street, most abandoned or in such disrepair the structures crumbled out onto the road itself. Six guards at either end of the street blocked it off, so far away that she could neither hear, nor see them. Sentries were stationed halfway down the street and she had (unluckily) landed watch outside of the units next to Malfoy's.

Across the road and two buildings down she could make out Harry's form, standing watch over his own side of the street, connected to them only through camouflaged Extendable Ears. The unfamiliar face of the man he was Polyjuiced as was set in rigid concentration.

A further three doors down, two more guards stood vigil outside the most in-tact building in the street. They supposed that this was the drop-off site and where the Chimaera would be held, for the men outside it were higher up in Yeboah's organization, and unlike them, seemed to be _guarding _the building as opposed to watching it.

Hermione hitched the rifle strap higher on her shoulder, refusing to hold the foul thing in her hands. The teenage boy she was Polyjuiced as was skinnier than she was used to, the strap of the rifle falling down as often as the baggy t-shirt and her now too big pants. Her clothes were already damp with sweat, her skin coated in a fine sheen of it and her bladder was fit to burst. Every hour on the hour she chugged down a healthy dose of Polyjuice Potion, following it with just enough water to wash the foul taste away and keep hydrated.

It was eight hours worth of potion and water, and Hermione's bladder was fit to burst. "Why would they bring a Chimaera _here_?" She asked because for the past hour and a half all she could think about was the bathroom, and she _had to get her mind off it_.

"The slums aren't far away," explained Harry. "If they let the Chimaera loose it'd kill thousands of Muggles."

"I know that," she replied shortly. "I don't understand _why _they would do something so horrible."

"Don't be thick, Granger," drawled Malfoy. "They do it because _they can_."

"They do it because they're evil gits," Harry cut in.

"Evil is a relative term."

"Killing thousands of Muggles is evil on _every _level, Malfoy."

"According to you and Weasley, Snape was an 'evil git' too," taunted Malfoy, the smirk on the weathered features of the man he was disguised as, looking as familiar to Hermione as the scar that should've been on Harry's forehead.

Harry lapsed into a sullen silence, Malfoy a smug one. If it were another time, if they could afford to bicker she would have asked Malfoy why he felt the need to do it; to say such awful things. As it was, they were _all _on edge. For eight and a half hours they'd been guarding the street and Hermione wasn't sure how much longer their cover would last. It was easy enough to go undercover and assume the identities of three sentries for Yeboah but their shift would end in less than two hours and the more men they had to stun and whose memories they altered and identities they had to steal, the more likely it was they wound be found out.

"How long are we going to wait for Cervone's men and the Chimaera to show?" She asked when the silence had settled and her bladder demanded to know when it could relax.

"Morning," Harry decided after a moment's hesitation. "Then we split up and take guard duty in turns."

"For the rest of eternity?" asked Malfoy sarcastically.

"Our shift ends soon," Hermione pointed out, ignoring him. "We can't be the new guards _and _the ones we are now."

"I know," Harry sighed. "We'll have to scatter the takeover of the next shift. Stun them one at a time from beneath the Invisibility cloak and then assume their identities."

"Seems like a lot of _unnecessary _fuss."

"Don't start, Malfoy. We're already on assignment; we're not changing the plan now."

"Disillusionment charms were invented for a reason, Potter."

"We're not using the spell."

"Because the Chosen One declares it so?" He sneered.

"If you had done the bloody reading three years ago we wouldn't be having this conversation, or any of the other hundred pointless ones we've had since," Harry growled, his oscillating gaze stopping just long enough to glare in Malfoy's general direction. "Hermione, what are you _doing_?"

"Nothing," she hissed, squeezing her legs tighter together, willing herself to stop squirming.

"If I had wanted to do the reading then I would have," Malfoy said a moment later because he could _never _let anything go.

"If you had you would know that this is a Class-I-6 assignment."

"I'm not thick, Potter. I know what designation this assignment is."

"Then you know we can't use that kind of magic here."

"Why the hell not?"

"International Statue of Secrecy is Priority One on Class-I-6 assignments," Hermione supplied through clenched teeth. The words had dropped from her lips before she'd given herself permission to say them, jumping out in rhythm to her squirming.

"Hermione's not even an Auror and she's done the reading." She could hear the smile in Harry's voice, even if it was slightly taunting. "The Statute of Secrecy is _the _most important thing in a heavily populated Muggle area like Kinshasa, Malfoy. What do you reckon a Muggle will think if they can't see us and we have to publicly detain Cervone's men and secure the building using obvious magic? We don't even know if Yeboah or _his_ men know about magic. We'd make a mess out of the whole bloody thing and then the Obliviators and the Department of Muggle Relations would get involved."

There was a moment of silence where it was _obvious _Malfoy had no response (because of course he would never admit Harry was right).

"Will you _desist_?" Malfoy growled at her instead, actually turning his head to glare down at her. She stopped, mid hop so startled that a little wet dribbled out.

"Just piss already!"

"It's easy for you to say, you're a _boy_," she replied hotly.

"So are you," replied Malfoy. "For now, at least."

Hermione pursed her lips and with as much courage as she could muster, lifted her chin and promptly turned on the spot.

"Don't forget to shake."

"You're a real prat, Malfoy," she hissed, refusing to look down.

Relief flooded through her, the moment of release and not Malfoy's running commentary nor Harry's not-so-subtle humming could dull it.

It was as she was sterilizing the area, her body, her hands, _everywhere_, that she turned around with her dignity in tatters and her cheeks a burning scarlet, that she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Too far back to be clear, along the rooftops she was sure she caught movement but a moment later a wisp of cloud slid in front of the moon and the light went dimmer still. The sweat on Hermione's back seemed to cool in the same instant and something swooped low against her before trickling down her spine. The tip of her wand glowed incandescently in the darkness. A sense of foreboding washed over her and things suddenly felt _very_ real.

"What was that, Granger?" Malfoy asked tightly, lofty taunts forgotten.

"A modified version of the _Homenum Revelio_ charm," she said quietly. The atmosphere thickened and their gaze slid to the building across the street, looming ominously in the dark.

"They're inside," she whispered.

"Damn it!" Harry growled, yanking his rifle down and shaking his wand free from his sleeve.

"Well that's just bloody brilliant," Malfoy hissed, pulling his wand from his pocket, too.

Hermione's heart beat a furious rhythm because _this wasn't the plan_. She took a moment to squirrel herself away in the tiny alcove of the entrance to the block of units behind her. Turning into the wood, she flipped the disposable phone open and fired off a message to Abernathy for back up. They couldn't go into the building blind, just the three of them _without _it. Hastily, she shoved the phone back into her pocket, without expecting a response. When on field duty the Auror Office technically had no contact with their Aurors. Communication was a one way street.

"You said Cervone's men couldn't Apparate with magical creatures!" accused Malfoy, when she turned back around.

"They can't! I don't know how they-"

"Portkeys?" interrupted Harry.

"No! No magical creature can travel via Portkey."

"Says you, yet _somehow they're inside the building!_"

"Floo powder, then?" demanded Harry.

"I – they _could_ but – but a Chimaera's too big to fit in a fireplace and in any case, they're not connected to the network. There are only two fireplaces in the entire DRC that have Floo-"

"Well now there are three – some genius you are-"

"_It doesn't matter_," growled Harry, his eyes trained on the two guards standing watch over the building. "They've connected to the network somehow. Hermione, send a message to Abernathy. We're breaching the building – we'll need back up."

"I already have-"

"Are you mad, Potter?!" Malfoy squawked at the same time. "This wasn't the plan!"

Back on the plane, when they'd made the plan, it had been to simply watch Cervone's men and get eyes on the Chimaera. When they found out where the Chimaera was being delivered they couldn't just watchand hope that Cervone didn't release it in such a densely populated area, not least because of the International Statute of Secrecy.

The back-up plan they made in the men's room of the Kwilu, was to neutralize Cervone's (and Yeboah's) men before they entered the drop off site, and secure the Chimaera while it was still caged (and hopefully sedated and hidden from public view). It was a plan that relied on a lot of suppositions and best guesses because that was all they had.

Neither of these plans had involved going into the building blind, where an ambush could be waiting for them. But well. They couldn't run the risk that Cervone would let the Chimaera loose so close to so many civilians.

"It wasn't the plan, but it was always a possibility, Malfoy. We all knew that," said Harry quietly. "I'll take point, Hermione cover the rear. We won't stun the guards until we're close," he added before abandoning his post.

"_We should wait for backup,_" Malfoy insisted.

Hermione had already stepped out onto the road, pulling the extendable ear free and scanning the street as she migrated closer to Harry. Silently, he stunned the only other sentry on duty, further down the street and far enough away that the sound of his collapsing form was barely louder than a falling stone.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Malfoy grunted, stalking over to them. "You two buffoons are going to get me killed."

"You knew the deal Malfoy," Harry murmured, taking the time to talk it out – for his own sake as much as Malfoy's. "You help the Aurors out and you don't go to Azkaban. You stay in your own house – you even get days off. This is the trade-off. You made this decision. It's not my bloody fault no one else wants you on their team."

Malfoy wasn't so thick that he replied, not when they'd crept closer to the two men that stood guard over the building they were looking to get into. With Harry only a pace ahead, Malfoy and Hermione automatically flocked to his sides scanning their surroundings, wands raised, _watching_.

"Que faites-vous?" One of the guards shouted, hitching his rifle higher in the crook of his arm.

"We need to talk," Harry replied, just loud enough for him to hear.

"Get back to your post! Keep watch on the street!" The other guard growled, coming forward.

They were close enough now that when Hermione's gaze swept to the left she could see the features of the man's face contort in aggravation.

A glint of reflected light caught the corner of her right eye and her gaze zeroed in on the rooftop of the building she'd been guarding but her eyesight wasn't good enough to make out more than the shadowy mass of rubble piled there.

There were no snipers on duty. Yeboah wasn't that well equipped but it did nothing to settle the unease swirling in her gut.

The sight of Harry drawing his wand pulled her attention, and the rush of air as Harry and Malfoy shot silent stunning spells blew limply at her thin t-shirt. The burst of light from their wands barely lasted a second before they hit the guards, their rifles clattering loudly as they toppled to the ground.

Harry banished the guards' rifles, Malfoy's attention was trained on the door and Hermione's was on the street. She would watch the rear right up until the moment they fell through the door and then, well. They'd make something up.

"Whatever you do _don't let them release the Chimaera_," Hermione whispered, retreating into the doorway until her back pressed up against the others.

It took them less than a minute to break through the protective enchantments guarding the door.

"Ready?" Harry asked, tensing.

The second the door cracked open their ears were assaulted by the sound of men shouting themselves hoarse and the deafening roars of a furious beast. The cracked concrete beneath her feet was covered in layers filth and grime, tufts of dirt kicking up at their entrance. The second the door closed behind them Hermione cast a sensory charm on it, just in case.

Powerful roars rocked through the room, pulling dust from the ceiling and shaking plaster from the crumbling walls. The source of it all lunged forcefully against the thick, _bent,_ iron bars of its cage. Seemingly endless links of chains weighed its bull like body down and looped tightly around its enormous feathered wings. The Chimaera's three heads snapped and howled; the lion and goats heads gnashed futilely at the chains while the dragon head spat fire at its captors. Three corpses lay nearest the cage; their burnt remains still sizzled weakly.

Hermione counted seven men running wildly around the cage of the fire breathing beast, shouting spells trying desperately to subdue the creature.

"I hate you, Potter," hissed Malfoy, his furious eyes glinting brightly in the firelight.

"It's not Harry's fault!" replied Hermione, indignant. Although, to be fair, the Chimaera was _a lot _bigger than any of them had anticipated.

"How the hell are we going to subdue – _and then transport _– that bloody thing?! Three of those idiots died doing it!" Malfoy bellowed while Harry shoved them all to the ground. A jet of red light whistled above them before carving a crater into the wall.

"_Stupefy_!" shouted Hermione, firing at the heavy set man, lumbering towards them. The curse tripped him up and his lined face turned slack as he fell to the ground, head first.

The ground beneath them vibrated with the stamping of the Chimaera and the deflected curses of its captors. Flicking her wrist, Hermione transfigured a broken slab of plaster at their feet into a low wall. They scrambled behind it, dropped to their stomachs so the wall would provide cover, and lifted their arms above their heads to fire curses in the direction of Cervone's men. It wasn't an ideal position but her transfigured wall wouldn't reach up any higher. Bits of concrete and rock flew up at them from deflected curses, rebounding with such force that tiny chunks of debris embedded themselves in their forearms and sliced thinly across their cheeks.

Volleys of light flew over their heads, some flying so low that they burned as they skimmed past, singing fabric, hair and skin. Hermione lobbed a _Petrificus Totalus _over the wall, petrifying a greying man further back. She winced as his colleague shoved his statuesque form to the side and over a broken table – right into a blast of fire from the dragon head's mouth.

Harry and Malfoy fired spells to her right, their shouts lost in the roars and screams of the men on the other side of the room. The vibrating ground rattled her teeth and the shock wave of a now _furious _stomping Chimaera sent her stunning spell off its mark.

Her target used the reprieve to send a hex that she only just managed to deflect, leaving a gaping hole in the ground before them. A burst of light blasted away a third of their wall, right in front of Harry, forcing them to huddle closer behind a much narrower wall. It was harder to aim pressed up so tightly against Malfoy's sweaty form. One of the men used the distraction to make his way past the line their wall had drawn and levelled his wand at them. Hermione rolled to her side, barely managing to deflect the curse in time, but it was an awkward position. She wasn't on her feet and so had no room to physically dodge his attack. All she could do was deflect his curses, one after the other, with her wand – it left no opening for an offensive.

Malfoy yanked her shoulder down and stupefied her attacker, the jet of light flying so close that it burned away the toe of her right sneaker.

It was as she was about to turn back to the three remaining men on the other side of the room when the sensory charm she put on the door sent alarm bells ringing in her head. The door opened a fraction and drifted closed again only to slam open a second later, four people tumbling through it, one of them with an _arrow _protruding from his chest. She managed to body bind one of them before they had a chance to turn around and spot her.

"_Move!_" shouted Hermione, tugging Malfoy up even as she, herself scrambled to her feet. Firing spells blindly in the direction of the door Hermione pushed a fumbling Malfoy ahead of her. She felt, rather than saw the curse that hit her right leg. It sliced its way into her flesh, burrowing in deep and almost blinding her with pain. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips as she grabbed at the back of Harry's collar, urging him to stop duelling and _hurry up_.

"_Confringo!_" she gasped, blasting a giant hole in the concrete where they had just been laying, coughing on the dust and debris that exploded around her. It provided enough cover for the three of them to sprint for an empty book shelf and an overturned desk.

It wasn't an ideal spot, but it put the two remaining men that had stumbled through the door to their left instead of behind them and the other three men they'd been duelling to their right. The Chimaera however, was against the wall directly across from them.

Hermione's step faltered as ribbons of pain spread down her leg and up into her back. Her knee gave out and she nearly keeled over, but Harry's hands reached out and yanked her forward.

She tumbled over the desk just as an arrow, bright and colourful embedded itself in her forearm. She barely registered the impact; she was too busy gasping for air as the pain in her thigh burrowed _deeper_, separating new flesh. Numbly, she realized there was a steady trail of blood trickling down her leg, glittering dimly against the dark skin of the teenager she was pretending to be.

"Was it a curse or a weapon?" Harry yelled, frantically tearing open the leg of her blood stained pants.

"Curse," she whispered back through clenched teeth. She let out an agonized cry that turned into an anguished scream when the burrowing hit something new. Acute vibrations sent _shocking _waves of pain through her and the part of her brain that wasn't being driven mad by pain realized the curse had begun to slice into bone.

She hadn't even realized she'd passed out until her eyes shot open and she jolted forward gulping, gasping, _begging _for air.

Somewhere in the background Malfoy's voice shouted hoarsely as he continued to fire curse after curse at their attackers.

Absently, she realized the burrowing in her leg had stopped, the bright arrow in her forearm had been removed, and the liquid she was coughing out wasn't blood but remnants of the potion Harry had forced down her throat. It was the potion Malfoy had brewed for them when they'd been back in London; a potent (and disgusting) blend of strengthening solution, numbing tonic and adrenaline they each carried for _exactly _this situation.

It wasn't enough to rid her of the pain that still sent shivers through her and had her snapping her teeth shut. Her body twitched with the force of it, the potion keeping her from unconsciousness and dulling the pain just enough that her brain began functioning a _little _better.

Harry, dirty, sweating and covered in blood – hers, his, she wasn't sure – crouched over her leg, alternating between holding her wound closed with his hand, dripping dittany into it, and firing random curses off over the desk.

"The Dittany will do it," she growled through clenched teeth, pushing his hands away weakly. They shared a brief glance, uncertainty in Harry's gaze, reassurance in Hermione's. "Go."

Something rocked the ground beneath them and shook the walls causing chunks of plaster to fall from the roof above them.

"YOU IDIOTS!" Malfoy roared slashing in the direction of Cervone's men. "ARE YOU STUPID OR JUST PLAIN CRAZY?"

It was what jumpstarted them both back into action. Harry turned just enough to send a wave of spells hurtling over the overturned desk, and with a wobbly hand Hermione lifted her wand to cover their left. She tried to crawl closer to the desk to help but her body was having none of it; the loss of blood and the sheer amount of _pain _making her arms and legs collapse under her weight.

Numbly, she realized she was lying in a pool of her own blood. It was so thick and there was so _much _of it Harry must have given her a blood-replenishing potion. There was no way one person could lose so much blood and still be conscious.

"They freed the Chimaera!" Malfoy grunted, lunging to the right to avoid a section of collapsing roof.

Harry leapt lithely in front of her, moving forward into the dissipating smoke to fire at something she couldn't see. It took a mammoth effort but Hermione managed to aim her wand at the desk Harry used for cover, turning it into metal. The pain was still a constant presence in her mind though and the table turned to stone instead.

_Better than wood_, she thought grimly her jaw still clenched tightly shut. A high pile of rubble separated Malfoy from her and Harry but the end of the shelf he was using for cover from Cervone's men (and now the Chimaera) was just visible. There was just enough of it exposed that her spell could hit it but her concentration was so shot, and she could barely flick her wrist, that it turned not to metal or stone but marble.

It was while Harry was shooting curses at the door that a pair of legs appeared _out of nowhere_ to kick at his right arm. His wand flew from his hand and in the next second the legs curled and wrapped themselves around his shoulders.

"_Stupefy!_" Hermione shouted, horrified, just as the rest of the woman's body fell into view, coiling itself around Harry's. One of the woman's hands aimed a gun in Hermione's direction, the other pressed at Harry's neck, his body immediately convulsing and twitching, the unmistakable buzz of electricity rocketing through him.

The spell hit the woman just before the quick 'crack' of the bullet leaving her gun assaulted Hermione's ears. As one, Harry and the woman tumbled to the ground, expressions of shock and anger twisting their features, even as they slipped into unconsciousness.

Hermione didn't feel the bullet. Not right away. The only thing that registered was the sudden quiet – no more shouting men, no more bellowed curses and no more tumultuous roars from the Chimaera. It was an observation that fled her when the dull ache in her shoulder finally gave way to _more_ pain. The heat of it slammed into her like a freight train; fresh and raw and _burning_.

There was a whistling sound to her right, barely audible over the sound of her own beating heart, her own ragged breathing.

"_Protego!_" Malfoy's disembodied voice grunted, deflecting an arrow and sending it flying off into the distance.

Her teeth chattered loudly, even louder than the whistling sound of the now _relentless _arrows flying in Malfoy's direction. Groaning, Hermione reached out her left arm – the arm that wasn't shot – and hauled herself into a sitting position against the wall.

Rubble rained down in a waterfall of destruction to her right as one of Malfoy's deflected arrows made contact with the wall.

"Where? Where are they coming from?" Hermione gasped out through clenched teeth, her erratic gaze sweeping what little of the room she could see and finding nothing.

"How the hell should I know?!" shouted Malfoy, deflecting another arrow. It was as the arrow soared past her eye line that a man leapt over the shelf providing Malfoy's cover. He was too quick for her to even turn her wand in his direction let alone fire a spell at him.

"Malfoy!" Hermione shouted, the gunshot wound in her shoulder protesting because _of course _it was her wand arm that had been shot.

With all the courage Hermione could muster, she braced her left leg and arm against the floor, and tried heaving herself up the wall into a standing position. The still open wound in her right leg sent crippling waves of pain through her. She barely made it halfway up the wall before she collapsed to the floor once more, crying out, hating herself.

She couldn't see past the rubble, but the unmistakable sound of fist hitting flesh and the scrabble of boots reached her ears. Her fingers clenched tightly around her wand at the sound of Malfoy's grunting and tears of frustration rolled down her face.

She had never felt more useless in her life.

Her heart beat dully at the quieting scrabbles from the other side of the rubble. Hermione's breathing hitched and hope, desperate and useless burned brightly in her chest but Malfoy had always been useless at Muggle combat.

With bleary eyes, Hermione watched the horizon of the rubble carefully, her wand at the ready even as the pain in her shoulder hammered an electrifying rhythm into the back of her skull.

"Stu-" she shouted as a hulking form leapt over the rubble. He had the element of surprise though, a better angle and faster reflexes. His boot made contact with her wounded shoulder, sending her careering sideways. She hit the ground forcefully, his kick sending her eyes rolling back and ripping an agonized shout from her.

Her wand bounced uselessly away and a man clad in Kevlar and leather towered over her, with a beretta pointed at her forehead.

"Don't make me shoot you, kid."


End file.
